PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

As in that summer spent at Nazareth
(so long before this time, some eighteen years),
she woke before the glimmering of dawn
and walked out to the garden; her bare feet
cooled by the neatly trimmed and dew-drenched lawn.
Expecting, sorrowfully, to once more meet
the awful mockery of shadowed death
that trapped her love behind a stone's conceit,
she found---as rising light proclaimed the day
arrived---the hulking millstone rolled away.
And in that morning's glory, with gasped breath,
she mistook Jesus for the gardener;
but His voice, speaking her name, made her sure
that it was He who paused to soothe her tears.

Starward
 
[jlc]